


Keffdak

by Temve



Series: Irdakverse [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clones, F/F, F/M, Force Ghost Qui-Gon Jinn, Irdak - Freeform, Kid Fic, M/M, The Force Ships It (Star Wars), Zabraks (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temve/pseuds/Temve
Summary: For busy warrior-diplomat Obi-Wan Kenobi and his partner Irdak, "they grow up so fast" takes on a whole new meaning. And then some.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Other(s), Original Jedi Character(s)/Original Female Character(s), Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Irdakverse [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974295
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Temple Gray

**Author's Note:**

> ‘Keff’ is the Judger of Change, a Zabrak word for the inner feeling you get that something (in this case in the flow of the Force or the stream of one’s life) is about to change drastically. Chapter titles are the dominant colors of the respective chapter.
> 
> Timeline is set one legislative period after the end of _Azdak_ , so there is a little bit of catching up to do in the first chapter.
> 
> Kudos to Ell for getting the second lightsaber into Anakin’s pack, and for helping me solve the tricky issue of one Sheev Palpatine.

“And who do we sign this young lady in as, hm?” 

The security guard smiled broadly, which did nothing at all to distract the child in question from the large blaster hanging from a strap over his shoulder. She frowned at him silently, clutching her stuffed toy tighter.

“Haven’t seen her in ages, Senator,” the guard continued, still doing his best to keep his tone light as he searched through Padme’s bag. “Is she old enough to sign her own name yet?”

Padme laughed drily and reached for the visitor log. “She’s a bright one but I think it’d strain your patience as well as hers to make her puzzle her way through all of it. I assume you’ll take my squiggle for it?”

“Fine by me, Senator.” The guard glanced at the neatly printed legend ‘Leia Naberrie Skywalker’ next to a near-illegible flourish of a signature, then turned back to the frowning Leia. 

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to sign in your friend here too, dear,” he said, pointing at the stuffed toy clutched tightly in her small arms. “And since he doesn’t know how to write yet, we’re going to have to, uh, read him.” He gestured at the detector channel off to the side. “If you step over here, you can watch him as he goes through. I promise it won’t hurt.”

“Her name is Titta,” the girl said sourly, “and _she_ too knows how to write.”

“Leia, please.” Padme’s voice was warm but firm, and the child’s frown flickered on and off several times before she relented. “I’m sure Titta doesn’t mind taking a ride through the detector channel.”

“The detective channel.” Leia nodded grimly. “She’s gonna come out knowing everything about you, just you watch!” She pointed a fearless finger at the security guard who was barely able to contain his chuckles, and who was grateful to be able to turn his back on the scene as he fed the fluffy blue textile creature of indeterminate species into the detector channel. 

As expected, it came up clear, and little Leia scooped it up immediately on the other end, raising its squished blue face to her ear to listen to what it had to say. 

“She’d be the pride of the downstairs kindergarten class,” the guard remarked, momentarily at a loss for any other small talk to make in the face of such five-year-old intensity. “I mean, if you ever want to, you know, get some actual work done… I’m sure they have relaxed enough down there to take accredited walk-ins these days.”

Padme raised an eyebrow. “I value being allowed in this building in the days and months to come, Mr Raddas. I suspect letting a highly Force-sensitive and highly spoiled five-year-old loose on an unsuspecting kindergarten teacher is not the way to achieve that. But I’ll take your recommendation under advisement. Have a lovely rest of your day!”

With that, she picked up her bag and ushered the child along the corridor that led to the interior of the Senate office building, intensely grateful that her actual office staff were not just models of patience among their respective species but also uniquely suited to the challenge: Dorra at least, who had gratefully reverted to her birth name and slightly more understated make-up style when her term as handmaiden/decoy was up, was not only trained in midwifery but also, probably more crucially, in self-defense.

Of course it was not Dorra that greeted them once they had made it up the elevator into her access-controlled suite of offices, but Captain Typho who mercifully did not feel the need to carry a gigantic blaster at his side (but did keep the sleek Nabooian handgun on his hip out of sight of the small visitor lest she be attracted to its shiny surface), or conduct any unnecessary examinations of Titta the stuffed toy. If anything, he seemed vaguely less uncomfortable around Leia now that she was able to walk and chatter under her own steam than when she had been a baby, but it was still a close call. 

“Coming to watch momma work, are we, young lady?” he asked cautiously, hoping for a smile.

Leia nodded earnestly. “Grandma’s at the Healers with my brother, and Dad’s off being a Jedi,” she informed him, then darted a concerned glance up at her mother. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right, dear,” Padme reassured her. “Typho is a friend.” Turning to her head of security, she added, “We’ve been trying to instil a bit of a sense of caution in them about that. You know, not going around telling everyone that their father’s a Jedi.”

Typho nodded slowly. “Sad that that has to be a concern these days… but I fully understand.”

“Well, it’s not just that,” Padme replied. “I mean, yes of course I’d want to avoid run-ins with the extremist fringes of the political spectrum at least in my personal life, and ‘Jedi’ _has_ become a bit of a dirty word in certain circles, but mostly it’s the inevitable prying questions about what the child of a Jedi is doing away from the Temple and shouldn’t they be taking lightsaber classes by now.”

Typho nodded again, dutifully not prying into the private matters of his employer, but alert and absorbing information like a good chief of security. He knew the children lived with their mother and grandmother and were receiving no outside instruction beyond what their family provided. Personally, he suspected that probably included Force use alongside your basic Aure-Beshs and dubious songs about Wookiees with bass harps that were supposed to teach you about vowels (small Skywalkers had large voices, and Shyriiwook had _a lot_ of vowels), but he had little insight into what lay outside his purview, and as far as small children were concerned, that was just fine.

“The short answer is,” Padme wrapped up the thread, “that we weren’t comfortable making that decision until they’re old enough to have an informed opinion. And if the Jedi haven’t budged from their antiquated age limits by that time, then so be it.” She shrugged. “In some ways, the anti-Jedi faction has a point. Taking a child from an existing family without their consent really is no way to run an organization.” She paused, knowing full well that parts of her own family would likely disagree with her on that. “Obviously, don’t quote me on that.”

“Certainly, Senator.” Typho allowed himself a tight smile. “May I inquire about the health of young Luke, since Leia saw fit to inform me he needs the Healers?”

As if by magic, Leia’s round face turned around, the haze of long words and boring adult talk suddenly pierced by the mention of her brother’s name. “Luke is sick,” she said firmly. “So he has to go to the Healers.”

“Just a minor infection,” Padme soothed. “But he needed a checkup anyway, and I’m sure Grandma appreciates the chemical assistance because apparently an earache does not stop a genuine Skywalker from existing at top volume.” She let out a short laugh. “At least these days I get to worry about my child’s minor ailments and less about my dear mother-in-law getting hopelessly lost in the City. ‘Up’ and ‘down’ are still not routine traveling directions for her mental map, but she’s doing a stellar job keeping everyone sane, and the kids adore her.”

Typho nodded his slow nod, mentally accessing the file about the elder Skywalker and her humble past on Tatooine before being rudely interrupted by the younger Skywalker.

“You talking about Grandma?” she asked enthusiastically. “Can Grandma come here when she’s done? I need to show her the detective tunnel!” She bounced up and down, giving poor Titta a case of fluffy whiplash.

“I don’t think Luke would prefer a conference room chair to his nice warm bed, dear,” she replied in her best diplomat voice. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Mmmh.” Leia nodded dubiously. “I s’pose.”

“Good thinking,” Padme replied softly. “And if you manage to let me get to my actual work, maybe we can comm Grandma at lunchtime, on the big comm, and you can tell her all about it then, hm?”

“Aaaall right.” The small face brightened. “But I get to push the buttons!”

“Promise.”

***

Actual work, as it turned out, welcomed her with the customary flurry of messages waiting to be perused, addressed, commented on, forwarded, brought to the attention of… given the fact that nothing had actually _happened_ on the Senate floor in what felt like an eon, the sheer amount of background politicking was wearying.

Of course, the Galactic Senate’s glacial pace was partly by design, to guarantee a measure of stability while ensuring no decisions could be made without sufficient majorities being courted into collaborating; but it would appear there had been no constitutional precedents for that stability hardening into utter gridlock as it had over the course of the last legislative period. As it was, even Padme was looking forward to the upcoming election cycle, and she was by no means certain any change would be for the better.

Of course, five years ago, she had applauded the election of Supreme Chancellor Meena Tills after her predecessor’s precipitous disappearance following the discovery of ex-Chancellor Palpatine’s involvement in the Separatist conspiracy, the Clone Army, and, for those inclined to believe in such matters, the revival of the Sith.

Of course, she had expected some dissatisfaction with the narrow vote of no confidence; her fellow Senators were entitled to their views after all, and prior to turning out a warmonger and potential Dark Lord of the Sith, Sheev Palpatine had been popular. Not to mention her colleague.

What she had not expected was the sheer tenacity of his loyalists, clinging not only to their perceived leader but also to each other in an unlikely coalition ranging from off-the-deep-end conspiracy theorists claiming shady goings-on behind the scenes of the Senate and the Jedi Temple to die-hard supporters of the man who refused to refer to himself as a ‘ _former_ Supreme Chancellor’, doubting the very constitutionality of a vote of no confidence, all the way to respected colleagues who appeared to simply be longing for a return to business as usual and for whom this whole matter of installing a new government seemed tedious and simply getting in the way of their business interests.

With such large sections of the Senate’s population effectively refusing to work with the government that a narrow majority of their colleagues had struggled to put in place, the last five years had descended into a nightmare of ineffectual governance and intra-faction squabbling, the voices from outside the Senate increasingly drowning out the debate.

She had watched in dismay as anti-Republic and anti-democracy sentiment resurged across the Republic’s worlds, and more and more of her clamoring message queue had carried undertones of frustration with the system as a whole. Entirely different worlds were now openly considering secession, not as an organized bloc of Separatists but out of necessity, as they put it. 

And then there was the increasing difficulty of getting qualified beings to run for Senate positions in a time of assassinations that had seemed like random accidents or unrelated crime at first but now appeared in terrifying clarity as a string of horrifically targeted killings of Senators across all parts of the political spectrum. The lockdown of all Senate-related buildings and restrictions on unscheduled travel for anyone above menial aide level had almost become second nature to her, and it had taken Leia’s insistent scowl to remind her that this was, in fact, not normal and not how the government of the Galactic Republic was supposed to be operating.

Of course, she could count on the clamor of a billion voices throughout the Galaxy agreeing with her on that last point, for reasons entirely unlike her own. Campaigning in the current election cycle had reached new levels of harshness, and even though her own seat was not up for grabs in the current election cycle, Padme had had to endure more than her fair share of personal attacks for essentially embodying what the Palpatine loyalists considered to be a conspiracy between the new (no longer new) government under Supreme Chancellor Tills and the Jedi Order. 

When the propaganda machine had caught wind of her personal involvement with a Jedi Knight, she had become demonized overnight as a pawn of a shadowy organization of religious fanatics whose agenda had precipitated the whole gridlock that the Republic currently found itself in - and no amount of arguing the facts could convince them otherwise. A Jedi uncovering evidence, to an increasing number of minds out there, was equivalent to a Jedi fabricating evidence to further his own nefarious goals, which varied according to the speaker’s favored conspiracy theory but never failed to include world domination, enslavement specifically of dissenters, and mind control.

Honestly, sometimes she wished for mind control. If only to help her get through her day fighting what she had to keep telling herself was the good fight while a fiercely Force-sensitive five-year-old under her conference table was complaining about the lack of yellow in the pitiful collection of pens she had rustled up in her office that morning because of course they’d forgotten to bring the crayons and she’d had to bodily stop Dorra from heading to the shops, knowing full well that the added security would mean she would be gone for the better part of the morning and Padme needed every functional brain she had at her disposal because once the ballots were cast, the world might look entirely different, and a lack of yellow in her child’s life might be less of a concern than the lack of a parent.

***

Two blocks from the actual Senate wasn’t bad. Closer than she’d ever gotten before actually, and on the same level too. Not that there was much in the way of foot traffic from actual Senators of course. They tended to hide out in armored transports and unmarked droid cabs, citing the specter of security, allegedly from a shady assassin out to hunt down Senators. 

Effectively, of course, they craved security from the people. Shutting themselves away in imitation of that monolithic abomination that dominated this section of the Coruscant skyline with its preposterous spires.

It made a great backdrop for her starker designs, but the committee had justly reminded her that variety was necessary to reach as broad a section of the populace as possible, and so she had deleted yet another looming shadow of the Jedi Temple and focused on smaller matters at hand. Smaller but no less powerful. 

She was proud of this one, and the committee had bowed to her artistic fervor and given the go-ahead to print. They were all new at this, and even two years in, no committee meeting had yet been routine. On the upside, almost every single one had started out with lengthy introductions form new recruits; the previously apolitical youth of Coruscant was waking up, and Sheg loved being part of it.

The fact that Sheg’s mother disapproved was icing on the cake; even a decade after moving to Coruscant the woman still customarily wore shades to conceal her stripey Noorian eyes ‘so as not to upset the locals’ when the locals, if you looked past your blinkers, were more colorful and diverse these days than they had ever been since the planet was first colonized.

The fact that Sheg’s mother admonished her, in her quiet voice and usually from behind the control panel of a highly specialized embroidery droid, not to make waves was the best incentive to make her want to make waves. Radio waves, preferably, but that had been the domain of Aluun and the boys, who actually had the kit and lacked the thick Noorian accent. And so Sheg had become that artistic voice of the committee, and its Visual Propaganda Coordinator, which on most nights meant coming home with her clothes covered in clammy poster glue and with another section of the City alerted to the dangers of a Jedi-led theocracy in the Senate. 

She was proud of this one, especially as it spoke without needing writing, and satisfied the committee’s request for a ‘smaller matter at hand’. A hand was at the very center of it, a fist to be precise, and yes, it had been her own that had been the model for this one, scrawny and dark-skinned, with the sinews standing out in stark relief. Around its wrist and forearm, a handful of other hands held on, clinging and providing support in equal measure, a riot of skin colors and anatomies, muscles and bangles.

Around her fist with its powerful, intersectional forward thrust, a sunburst of light spread out among the shattered pieces of a lightsaber hilt, cracking open the mystique of the symbol of the Jedi and freeing the crystal within to illuminate the people and their hands, working together towards a brighter future.

Of course, the committee had adopted Aluun’s much more succinct title of ‘the Jedi smash one’. Then again, being able to describe the sunrise of a new age to your mother as the reason you came home in the middle of the night covered in poster glue yet again was probably a safer way to securing yourself a bowl of leftovers and a place to sleep. 

Aluun had offered to put her up in the committee office, but until she was certain of his motives for that particular move (the couch was comfortable, yes - but was it really _sleep_ he had in mind?), she would put up with her mother’s fretting.

Two blocks from the Senate building, two tendays before the election, wasn’t bad for a row of sunrises.

***

“You’re awake, Senator? I was expecting to just leave a message…” 

The grainy blob of holographic projection resolved itself into the head and shoulders of a well-groomed but weary middle-aged man with a sharp haircut, neat beard, and the slightly exaggerated shoulders of a set of Jedi tunics.

“Obi-Wan!” Padme exclaimed in delight, checking her nightshirt before activating her cam. “It feels like eons since I heard from you!”

“Probably accurate,” Obi-Wan replied with a tired smile. “Believe me, there are moments I wish I’d talked Mace out of nicknaming me ‘The Negotiator’ within earshot of the High Council. Sometimes it feels like they’re relying on these two poor arms to hold the entire Republic together.”

“How long since you’ve last been home? Sorry, I don’t get out as much as I would like either, between the children and all the extra security I pretty much don’t see anything except my apartment and my office. And the Senate floor, on the rare occasions when anything does go up for debate, or, Gods forbid, a vote.”

Obi-Wan nodded, grimacing. “Irdak might be able to tell you to the exact hour… I’ve lost count to be honest. Too many back-to-back missions.” He closed his eyes, and the wave of tiredness that emanated from him was almost tangible to Padme even across the comm line.

“You’ve changed your hair,” she said into the crackly silence, not sure what else to offer.

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan replied, “it became too much of a hassle to keep the long mane neat, especially without Irdak to monopolize my hair care. Of course, now that I’ve cut it short the gray at the temples is showing even more.”

“It’s a very good look on you, Obi-Wan,” Padme replied warmly. “Very much the distinguished diplomat.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “I call it Temple Gray, because Force knows someone at the top of that central spire is responsible for most of it. Anyway, seeing as I actually spend more time interacting with my fellow harried warrior-diplomats than with my own family, I wanted to alert you that there’s a significant probability that Anakin might be headed for a crash landing at home over the next two or three days. If you scoop him up from the spaceport there’s a chance you might get him to yourself for a few hours before the Council notices he’s missing.” The mischievous grin on Obi-Wan’s features made him look years younger, crow’s feet notwithstanding.

“Wonderful news!” Padme grinned widely. “I will do my best to ensure the combined security forces of Coruscant don’t go after a missing Knight and a missing Senator for however long it takes for us to get reacquainted.”

“Take your time, lovebirds. And don’t let Irdak talk you into trying any of his… inventions.” He squirmed visibly. “Don’t want to have to explain a missing Knight and a missing Senator turning up in the Healers’ Ward with intimate injuries. Or a damaged child.”

Padme laughed, then clapped a hand over her mouth, remembering she was not alone in the apartment. “Sorry. Tell him we’d be delighted to have him over for dinner any time, with or without droid entourage.”

“You might get Jedi entourage if you’re lucky. Still working on that but I might intersect with Anakin on Coruscant for once. Force knows I’m more than due for a few days’ leave.”

“That would be the best possible distraction from electioneering I could think of, Obi-Wan. Consider yourselves our guests whenever you can make it.”

“Thank you, Padme. Hope the rest of your night is peaceful.”

“Yours too, Obi-Wan. Whenever that may be.”


	2. Green Remembered

“Azdak, daughter of Irdak. You know that’s not gonna fly, right?”

That had been the last time he’d seen her overnight; as with previous occasions, their enforced proximity had been precipitated by the fact that Azdak had managed to sustain some minor injury and Irdak had managed to summon enough of the aura of the medical expert to wrangle an overnight stay in the Healers’ Ward. One which happened to coincide with his night shift.

The frown that shimmered back at him in the dimmed emergency nightlights of the trauma ward was almost fully grown, and achingly similar to Obi-Wan’s, for all that it resided on a spiky-haired young woman’s forehead and, naturally, among a set of vestigial horns that almost matched his, except that they were slightly smaller and lighter in color.

She had gone on to explain, with the strained patience of a senior Initiate who was being expected to wrangle her younger compatriots all too frequently, that this was most certainly not the way she wished to be known, since it read plainly, ‘the kid whose medical file is a mile long and now not even in her legal name.’

She hated being special. Growing up at anything from six times to, these days, twice the normal pace of a human, she’d been under the microscope the moment she arrived at the temple creche, accompanied by the iron insistence that she would not be allowed to become a loose cannon - _like her father_ , echoed in at least some of the minds involved; that would be those that remembered Irdak’s turbulent early years and the ensuing need to actually train him in Force manipulation in order to keep the current of the Dark from eating away at him. Clamped to that iron insistence on the other side was the unbending tenet that no Jedi youngling was in any way to be treated better or worse than any other Jedi youngling, no matter their lineage. If anything, Anakin Skywalker having turned out to be such an upstanding member of the Order had swayed the Council’s decision to keep this latest unscheduled offshoot of the Jinn/Kenobi lineage close by - but the tradeoff had been brutal. Well, it had been for Irdak.

And yet here she was, a fine young Jedi utterly impatient with the clumsy love that a random Healer who happened to share her species was showering on her whenever an accident resulted in them being in the same room for any length of time.

She was _lecturing_ him. In the cool controlled tones of a Master Windu, she was, as she put it, trying to get it into your thick horned skull, that her place was in fact not in the box so hopefully mislabeled ‘daughter of Irdak’. Nor with Master Kenobi, especially not with Master Kenobi who radiated awkwardness every time he found himself in the same room as her current class of Initiates, patently being swarmed by younglings eager to get close to the famed swordsman and negotiator and similarly patently being ignored by the always-overgrown part-Zabrak teen at the back of the room because the sight of him stealing glances at her over the assembled heads of her clan was, as she put it, not good for his reputation. Unless of course his infrequent intersections with her were designed to be covert tests of her ability to control her emotions, in which case, she was well on top of that, thank you very much.

And with that, she had closed her eyes (blue, like his, though none of that showed in the dim light) and effortlessly sunk into a deep meditation.

He’d sat by her bedside as long as he could conceivably manage without being missed by the rest of the night shift staff, and then spent the rest of the shift dealing exclusively with the droids among them.

***

He felt more tired than normal after a night shift, and he looked even more tired than he felt. The ‘fresher mirror reluctantly reflected the face of a man who looked indefinitely older than his twenty-five or twenty-six standard years. Naturally, time had passed; he was looking at the reflection of a man covered in a near-full set of tattoos, recounting the story of his life so far and slowing down only because, as Obi-Wan had tenderly put it, we need to leave room for all the stuff that happens as you grow old with me.

Time had passed - he’d given up on maintaining a short haircut (which was, as he had found, nontrivial when one had horns) and let it grow out again, and the fact that when he released his mane from its usual tail or bun it reached past his nipples was a good indicator that years had gone by since he had first dropped the dreadlocks and surprised Obi-Wan with a short-lived short crop.

Today, the only thing that appeared to be as long as his hair was his face, and the concerned look on the similarly long-haired blue apparition behind him did little to alleviate his dark mood.

//Bad day?//

Irdak sighed. “Bad decade, possibly. It’s barely been five standard years, has it? Damn. I never thought I’d use the words ‘they grow up so fast’ and resent every single one of them.”

//Azdak _is_ a bit of a special case in that respect, isn’t she?// Qui-Gon’s expression was gentle but calm, and Irdak found himself envying him his position as the family ghost, able to absent himself or present himself wherever the Force reached.

“She hates it. And she’s not afraid to say so. Hates being special. Especially being special to me. Which… I mean, I knew I wasn’t equipped to be a father, given my own history and situation. But I’d hoped to be more than merely an embarrassment to my daughter.”

//She’s a teenager, Irdak. Hard to believe through that may be. I could tell you stories of what Obi-Wan was like at that age...//

Irdak shook his head, picking up a brush and running it vigorously through his hair. “Oh, _you_ don’t even exist as far as she’s concerned. No place for Force ghosts in the teachings they’re stuffing her head with. And she knows everything, of course.”

//She _is_ a teenager. And to be fair, she has no living memory of me.//

Irdak sighed. “I know. It’s just… I keep expecting some kind of coming together, you know? Like one day I’ll stop being the only one who wants that connection.” He shook his head sadly. “Like I’m even qualified to talk about raising a child.”

//You have a kind heart, Irdak. And whoever raised you did it well, even though you don’t have a name in your memory to attach your gratitude to.//

Mechanically, Irdak’s hands worked along the length of his hair to braid it for bed. “I suppose,” he said tiredly. “I’m feeling a bit unhinged today. And early morning after night shift is probably not the best time to discuss family matters… but you know, Qui, sometimes I imagine meeting my childhood family in the street and just _knowing_ , like there’s a bond there. And I grew up in a _lab_ for all we know.”

//A lab with people in it. Who either still exist or have joined the Force,// Qui-Gon pointed out. //So you’re right, in a way. You’ve just lost the image of them in your head.//

“She doesn’t even want the image of me in her life,” Irdak sighed. “Please tell me this will pass or something, because I need to get to sleep.”

A wordless blue hug swept around his tattooed shoulders, and Irdak could have gone to sleep there and then if he hadn’t been standing in the ‘fresher. “Thank you, Qui.”

Mindlessly, he opened the faucet one more time to water the spindly trailing vine that had taken up residence in the humid atmosphere of their ‘fresher and was already threatening to take over one side of the mirror.

That she had thrust at him the last time he’d seen her in the daytime, and outside the Healers’ Ward for once. It had been a gift but she’d been forced to part with it since one of her clan mates was violently allergic to it, and she had coolly informed Irdak that in addition to this consideration, attachment to a specific plant lifeform specifically owned by her was unnecessary given the richness of the Temple gardens.

The fact that he’d tried to give her a plant had been the outcome of her admitting she had a hard time holding on to human friends, on account of always being the youngest at the beginning of the class year and the oldest well before it was half over, never mind all the additional coursework and physical training crammed into her schedule to account for the fact that her body was, at this point, well past the first inklings of puberty.

How would you feel, she had spat at him, when your supposed agemates are still all about the wonder of racing ollfrogs when you have to sneak off between extra coursework to learn how to effectively bind your breasts so as not to chafe yourself raw in saber class? You’d make friends with plants too. At least they don’t have this ridiculous concept of growing up, they just grow.

And that had been the last thing out of her before an impressive set of shields had slammed down on her disgust and pride. “I am doing more than twice what anyone in this Temple has been given at my age, whatever ‘my age’ may be. The least you can do, _Healer Irdak_ , is to stop getting in my way. Attachment has to wait. And for Force’s sake, stop trying to sneak me gifts. People notice.”

Chastised into stunned silence, he had held the small pot with the trailing vine tighter, and nodded numbly. “You are a headstrong young woman, Azdak,” he said softly. “You’ll make your way in the world. I just… I wish I could be there to watch.”

She snorted. “You’ll have me out of your hair soon, one would hope. If I manage to get myself apprenticed before I look your age, that is. I foresee lots and lots of off-planet missions in my future. I’ll make a fine negotiator.” She shook her head. “When Ardeem started that rumor about me getting picked up by Master Kenobi once I reached Padawan age, I’m telling you, the amount of self-control necessary to not Force-choke every single catcall of ‘Daddy Kenobi’ should have been more than enough to qualify me. Anyway, thanks for looking after this little pathetic lifeform. I’m sure it appreciates you.”

_They grow up so fast._

***

“Good to see you, Obi-Wan.” Padme’s hug was surprisingly strong given her slender stature.

“Yay, Uncle Obi’s here! Let’s eat!” The larger-than-life voice came from about knee level, but that was rapidly changing as young Luke bounced up from where he had been half-hidden behind a construction project consisting of most of the contents of his toy box. With uncanny speed and precision, he levered himself up on to one of the full-size chairs and had his hand deep in one of the take-out boxes when an equally loud but slightly more feminine voice chided him from a similarly diminutive height that “you have to hug everyone first, Luke.”

Irdak dutifully found his thighs enveloped by a pair of small arms, and he patted little Leia’s head affectionately. “Your hair’s getting longer than mine, young lady,” he said cheerfully. “Pretty soon you’ll be able to wear it as a cloak.”

The small face turned up at him with a mischievous grin, and it was Padme who answered in her daughter’s stead. “Don’t give her ideas, Irdak. She’s going to take you up on it, you know? It’s hard enough getting her to wear clothes, much less put all that hair up and out of the way.”

“Nothing wrong with a little nudity around the house,” Irdak grinned. “And I suppose you could threaten her with a Padawan cut.”

Leia made a face and released her stranglehold on Irdak’s legs to move on to the next recipient of the mandatory pre-dinner hugs.

“We gave Grandma the evening off,” Padme stage-whispered. “Though frankly, it would take actual restraints to stop her from being the insistent homesteader she is. Anyway, I hope you don’t mind that most of this got delivered from Dex’s and the Injein House… and the kids chose much of the spread, so be prepared for a lot of fried goods. And very colorful food.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Irdak replied with a smile. Luke had already helped himself and was chewing loudly on a disturbingly pink tentacle, contentedly watching the people he’d taken to calling Uncle Obi and Uncle Irdak exchanging hugs with Mom and Dad and Grandma before submitting to Padme’s insistent gesturing and taking their seats around the crowded table. 

Anakin and Obi-Wan were already deep in conversation, and some of it was patently being conducted through the vestiges of their training bond. Irdak knew better than to interrupt Jedi business; besides, there was plenty of Obi-Wan’s presence left to bask in. And he had brought reinforcements.

With a flourish, he produced the bottle of tart Alderaanian wine that had been sitting in their quarters waiting for just such an occasion. The whole family around one table - he honestly wasn’t sure how long it had been. Still, as the wine-blue glow at the far end of the table reminded him, it was now, and now was good.

“Want to see a neat trick?” Irdak asked in the direction of the children, and to his credit he managed to get Luke to stop chewing and pay attention, his mouth hanging open.

“Uh-huh,” he said. 

Shmi broke into laughter, blushing. “Luke. You look like your father did at your age. And I don’t mean that as a compliment. Shut your mouth, young Skywalker, or Uncle Irdak might reconsider.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “He does too. The hair helps, of course.”

“I don’t look like dad!” Luke protested. “Look at him. He’s tall. And his hair’s all dark!”

“If you’d listened, young man,” Obi-Wan rejoined gently, “you would have heard that your grandmother described you as looking like your dad did when he was a child. And she would have known, because she was most certainly around for that. As was I, although I was a few years behind. And if you like, we can ask Master Qui-Gon as well.”

“He’s not really here… is he?” 

When one of the remaining fried tentacles waved at him from the takeout box, Luke dropped his mouth open in silence again, and Leia giggled. “Hello Uncle Invisible,” she said.

“Anyway.” Anakin demonstrated effortlessly that he too was in possession of a full-scale Skywalker voice. “Can we all agree that Uncle Irdak gets to do his neat trick now? Because some of us want to start eating, and he’s holding the wine captive.”

Luke nodded dubiously and focused his open-mouthed attention on Irdak and the curvy metal bottle in his hand. “No Force stuff though,” he demanded.

“Promise. All natural. Watch.” Assured of everyone’s full attention, Irdak slowly raised a hand to his forehead, and with a deft twist removed his silver horn. The natural one underneath had fully regrown over the years but he found having a piece of decorative metal on his head had become a comfortable part of his identity.

And it made a very nice bottle opener.

Leia’s impromptu bout of applause only soured when she was told in no uncertain terms that she couldn’t have any of the wine, and it was only when Anakin reminded her that Uncle Irdak was in fact a Healer and knew best about what small people should and shouldn’t do with their bodies that she relented and agreed to a cup of juice instead.

Shmi chose that moment to enquire about Irdak’s work, and for a relaxed few minutes the dinner conversation revolved around the latest breakthroughs in medical technology and the relative merits of droid healers compared to sentient ones, with especial regard to their respective quirks which, as far as their long-suffering colleague Irdak was concerned, were entirely comparable except that sentients did not come with an ‘off’ switch.

“I’ve actually been studying one of your arts, disaster brother mine,” Anakin chimed in between bites. “The off-label version, of course.”

Padme quirked an eyebrow at him that was, at the same time, an invitation to continue and a warning to continue in a way that wouldn’t frighten the children too much.

“Life force manipulation, I suppose you could call it,” Anakin continued. “Like what you and your sentient colleagues do to your more damaged patients. Channeling life force into them from the ambient hum of the Living Force, right?”

Irdak nodded. “That’s become my favorite part of work. Well, my favorite non-engineering part.”

“I get that,” Anakin laughed. “Totally. Anyway, so you’re practicing the one hundred per cent above board version of that, taking in ambient Living Force and concentrating it into a struggling being to help them get stronger and healthier. And… it follows that that would go both ways, right?”

Irdak’s expression darkened, and he nodded slowly.

“Exactly.” Anakin stabbed his fork in the air. “You know what I’m talking about because you’ve been through what that feels like first hand. And… I mean, the practice of it is kind of limited when you’re trying to stay on the ethical side of things but…”

“You’ve been killing a lot of plants,” Padme deadpanned.

Anakin laughed tonelessly. “Yeah, pretty much. Invasive species actually, but it did help me get good at dissipating the life force that I pull out, without as much as touching it. Not that I’d mind a jolt of energy from a strangling vine, but… I suspect that some days, that’s going to be a Dark Side user, and that would not be good to carry around with you.”

“No,” Irdak agreed flatly. “Even for one as strong in the Force as you, Anakin.”

“Have you encountered any Dark Side users in your recent travels, Anakin?” Obi-Wan this time. “I mean, any that you’re authorized to share information on.”

Anakin chuckled softly. “I’m going to assume the High Council does not have ears in the room, but for once I can honestly say no, I haven’t. Doesn’t mean that it’s going to stay that way, though. With Dooku stripped of his Force powers and in exile, I suspect our friendly neighborhood Sith Lord is going to look for new acolytes eventually. If he hasn’t yet.”

“You know I don’t like it when you refer to him as my neighbor,” Padme needled. “But I understand.” She sighed. “Somehow I don’t think the next one is going to be as… civilized as Count Dooku was.”

Irdak frowned at her, and Obi-Wan placed a hand on his to forestall a comment. “Civilized or not, he has done a lot of damage,” he interjected, “and it was hard enough to convince the High Council to let him live. But you are right, he’s not our concern any more, wherever he may be. There’s bigger threats orbiting the former Supreme Chancellor.”

“Exactly,” Anakin agreed. “And I suspect I’ll run into one soon enough, with how many missions I’ve been doing. You and me both, Master.”

“You’ll be safer out there than we are here,” Padme replied, “at least if you go by the worried comms that my family sends me. All they hear on Naboo is this Senator assassinated, that Senator gone missing, and then they check in on me in the middle of the night to make sure I’m not next.”

“Have you considered leaving Coruscant?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“I have,” Padme answered sharply. “And I’ve rejected the idea, at least for now. Not until life becomes unbearable for my family here will I leave. I still think I can be of use here, for all that I’m not actively campaigning this election season.”

“You’ll be one of the group that will have experience of the previous government when working with the new one,” Obi-Wan agreed. “For whatever that kind of continuity is worth these days.”

“The arc of history is long,” Padme agreed, “but I have to believe our combined weight helps it bend towards justice. I may not have the power of a Sheev Palpatine, but me and a few hundred other Senators… that’s a different story. And I’m determined to be part of that story.”

The word ‘story’, as it turned out, was all the opening Luke needed to slip off his chair and make his way under the table to pop up between the thighs of the adult most likely to be distractible from all that boring talk of Senates and Jedi. 

“Tell me a story, Uncle Irdak?”

As it turned out, it took all of two sentences to kick-start the story engine inside young Skywalker’s mind, and his twin sister wasn’t far behind, adding local color to the tale they were weaving and literally _throwing_ in supporting characters from her ample collection of stuffed toys. Predictably, the hero of the story very quickly morphed into Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight extraordinaire, who now had the power to kill evil plants with one look (a snake made of braided ribbons had to double as the deadly vine, and everyone had to stop for a few minutes while Leia made up a reason why it was light blue with purple specks instead of the poison green that Luke insisted evil vines had to be).

Since Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight extraordinaire, was showing no signs of finishing his boring adult conversation with Uncle Obi-Wan and Mom any time soon, and Grandma was far too polite to shift the delicate balance away from quiet adult matters to the adventure that was loudly unfolding on the floor, Irdak would have to do. And Anakin had actually dropped his pack on the floor, which meant it took all of five seconds for a unanimous decision to be reached among those on the floor that Anakin needed to have his bag packed with everything he needed to slay the evil Sith plants once and for all.

In went Titta the stuffed toy, because she had been through the detective tunnel and that had, in Leia’s confirmed opinion, left her with the ability to detect anything evil in anyone, however sweet they may look. In went a shockingly accurate plastic replica of a dead fish, because Jedi needed to eat, and everyone involved knew Anakin loved fish ever since he’d first eaten it after leaving Tatooine as a child. 

And, most crucially, in went the hilt of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, which had become one of their favorite things in the galaxy ever since the twins had first laid eyes on it in Obi-Wan’s quarters years ago. Anakin had had to perform some emergency droid surgery on it to make it safe for children to handle, but he had left the crystal inside intact and just disconnected the activator because the reaction that the young Skywalkers exhibited was quite amazing and quite unlike what you would expect from the intersection of a small child and a deadly weapon.

They _hugged_ it, and gnawed on it with their teething little mouths, and when they were old enough to string a sentence together, explained that this was a _good_ lightsaber that didn’t kill people and only made them feel warm and good because it had the memory of big hands and steady arms in it. And even though there was no way the children would ever get to see Qui-Gon beaming at that, the sensation was palpable, and right, and the lightsaber had changed owners that day.

Naturally, the lightsaber that had good hands and a warm glow had to come in Dad’s pack to help him fight the evil Sith plants. And maybe the fact that its glow was green made it even better.

Naturally, its owner beamed in the background, unseen by the children but visibly, to Irdak’s smile-crinkled eyes, pleased with how his chaotic molecule of a family was forming durable connections. Connections that were not built on blood or genetics but on trust and imagination, his almost-son and his grand-Padawan’s children effortlessly including him in the plot to save the galaxy.

Given the current crew seated around and under this table, Qui-Gon had a hard time imagining better hands for the galaxy to be in.

***

Asajj stalked along the corridors of the former Republic command ship, the _Defiant_ , not caring how much noise her boots made in the spotlessly appointed halls. Once a state-of-the-art vessel dedicated to defending the Republic’s space lanes against rogue intruders and heavily armed pirates, it had disappeared from Kuat Shipyards where it was undergoing routine refurbishment the moment Supreme Chancellor Palptine disappeared from the political stage.

Officially, it had never reappeared; and it was not likely it ever would, not with the extensive refurbishments it had undergone since. The first had been a sensible revamp of its transmission systems, to ensure that it would appear cloaked as an innocuous Coruscanti pleasure cruiser to anyone not in immediate viewport distance.

The rest, over the years, had brought the ship distastefully close to _being_ a Coruscanti pleasure cruiser, at least as far as Asajj was concerned.

She had toyed with the idea of using her fine-tuned stealth abilities to sneak into Darth Sidious’ private quarters to ascertain in person the presence of gold-plated toilet bowls, but had decided ultimately that the personal fallout would not be worth the gloat. Besides, there were precious few out there who would listen to the conspiratorial rantings being broadcast from its state-of-the-art communications suite and have any brain space left to care about what personal luxuries the Supreme Chancellor allowed himself. In their view, he deserved only the best; he played the benevolent politician felled by an unlawful coup to the hilt, and the sycophants and media professionals that took up the rest of the ship made sure he looked his best wounded savior self whenever he went on air. 

She did her best to spend as much time away from the _Defiant_ as possible, and whenever she was not being sent on assassination misson after assassination mission, she spent as much time as possible in Sidious’ archive, without his permission of course. One did not become a Sith apprentice without impressive cloaking technique, and if there was one advantage to being stuck on a Sithdamned spaceship with a crowd of spin doctors, video editors, and hangers-on, it was that they took up an inordinate amount of Darth Sidious’ time. Time best spent amassing the knowledge and skills it would take to break his hold on her.

She doubted the news had gotten back to him yet, but her latest string of missions had gone _extremely_ well. Granted, it had been the usual unsatisfying fare: dispose of a few undesirable Senators and a couple of loyalist ones too, ‘just to throw them off the scent’, but her methods had evolved most satisfyingly. 

Her harsh laugh echoed along the uncarpeted portion of the corridor, far enough out of the Supreme Chancellor’s (never ‘former Supreme Chancellor’, upon pain of death or worse) orbit to be comfortable for one such as her. To think that a few years ago she had had to resort to firearms or poison gas to achieve her goals. That she even got herself _damaged_ in the process.

Asajj Ventress truly had come a long way. And even though _he_ avoided calling her by her rightful name of Darth Imperias, she made sure that the whisperings among those who found her victims would gravitate towards that name, and the coalescing possibility of her existence.

_There’s a new Sith in town._

And she sucked the life out of them, just like that. Delicious, rich life. Let their clueless Healers try to figure out what they died of. Let the _Jedi_ puzzle over what was eating Senators like candy, and getting stronger for it. 

She would get there, steady and stealthy. She would, eventually, leave this ship for good, leaving behind a crew of rotting sycophants and a pathetic excuse for a Sith Lord, gone from the intolerably weak position he was in now to the intolerable weakness of permanent death.

She was biding her time, collecting her strength. The moment it exceeded his, she would be more than ready to end him.

***

“Now there’s a surprise.” Irdak pulled off his headwrap and shook out his hair, letting it spill over his scrubs. “I half expected the Council to just keep you and shove you on a ship for your next impossible mission right away.” He bent down to where Obi-Wan was sitting at their comm terminal and placed a tender kiss on his forehead.

“This may be worse,” Obi-Wan replied darkly. “You get to have me on-planet for the foreseeable future.”

Irdak’s eyes lit up. “But that is wonderful! Obi-Wan!” 

Obi-Wan found himself enveloped in a backwards hug and couldn’t help returning it, if half-heartedly. When no words were forthcoming, Irdak directed his gaze over the top of Obi-Wan’s head to the comm unit’s screen.

“Senate business?” he hazarded. “What does that have to do with you?”

“Nothing, until today.” Obi-Wan sighed. “I have been asked to serve a rotation as the Jedi delegate to the Senate.”

Irdak frowned. “I didn’t know the Jedi _had_ a delegate in the Senate.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Exactly. It was largely a ceremonial position, traditionally non-voting, and actually left vacant for most of the last century on account of the Jedi having better things to do with their time than watch political debates unfold in mind-numbing detail.”

“And now they want… _you_?”

“The Order’s most renowned negotiator. The public face of the Jedi.” Obi-Wan sighed, the words clearly not his own. “Some negotiator I am when I can’t even talk my own Council out of this monumentally wrong-headed idea. They seem to be convinced that my presence will bring some much-needed stability, reason, and unity back to the Senate. I don’t know what planet they live on, but if you look at the fly-posters all the way from the spaceport to the Temple, a Jedi presence in the Senate is about the last thing that would inspire unity.”

“I couldn’t think of anyone better suited to the job, though,” Irdak replied thoughtfully. “If the people are inclined to trust any Jedi at all, it would be you.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “For most of those out there, the fact that I _am_ a Jedi disqualifies me from deserving their trust. Palpatine’s transmissions are like sweet venom to people’s minds, Irdak. It seeps into the cracks and eats away at all things traditionally believed to be right. He is _good_. Too good.”

“You are good too, Obi-Wan.”

“Thank you. Being good in the wrong place at the wrong time seems to be my skill set.” He sighed. “But yes. Until the new Senate and Supreme Chancellor are elected and sworn in, I get a few days’ respite.” He gestured at the comm screen. “Lots of protocol and proceedings to study up on, but you do get me home every night for a couple of days.”

“Family time.” Another hug. “And I will do my best, every night, to dispel this dark cloud of Senate-induced foul mood.” Irdak placed another upside-down kiss on Obi-Wan’s forehead. “I’ve found a few recipes I’d love to try out on you. And… wait.” His face split open in a grin wide enough to be reflected in the comm terminal’s screen. Wide enough to make Obi-Wan turn his head in confusion. 

“You get to be to all intents and purposes a Senator.”

“Yes.” A heavy sigh.

“And you get to attend the inauguration next tenday.”

“Yes?”

“And the inaugural ball.”

“Yes. I’m not sure I like where this is going, Irdak.”

“Oh, you will. You will be a beacon of tolerance and diversity. And Light-filled beauty.”

“I will _not_ be the belle of the ball, Irdak.”

Irdak laughed, a warm rumble that vibrated through Obi-Wan’s head. “Leave that part to me, love.”


	3. Paper White

“Thank you, love.” 

Obi-Wan reached for the tea cup without even looking up from his studies, the chilly glow of his datapad the only illumination in their otherwise dark common room. Only when Irdak’s hand refused to let go of the cup did he reluctantly expand his attention away from the dense summaries of the last fifteen years’ worth of Senate proceedings, and let it travel outward.

Tea. Herbal, strong, unsweetened, and almost tepid, the way he was known to like it. The cup, an unremarkable standard-size ceramic one that had probably started out in the refectory and migrated up to their quarters in his or his last Padawan’s hand, and then never returned. The hand, achingly familiar, the broad palm and blunt fingers transmitting the strength and warmth of slightly more than one individual. The arm…

“What _is_ that thing you’re wearing?”

It could be argued that the most noticeable thing Irdak was wearing was a broad grin, but even that paled momentarily in comparison to the… textile object currently wrapping his long frame.

Its color was so vibrant and deep it almost literally lit up the room. As it was, Obi-Wan was sure that some of the sparkle making his vision flicker was in fact the reflection of the glow of his datapad. _Trust Irdak to make Senate proceedings look indecent._

Not that there was anything technically indecent about it - in fact, anyone familiar with Irdak’s tendency to minimize the amount of clothing on his body to a level that was necessary for safety and comfort would have been astounded at how not a square centimeter of his tattoos was showing.

And then he thrust out one hip, and his tattoos _were_ showing. All the way down one leg, revealed by a breathtakingly high slit up the side of what could only be described as a skirt. Dress. Evening gown. Obi-Wan swallowed. An object that made Irdak look like he had been dipped in eye-wateringly intense shimmering magenta... goo. Obi-Wan wasn’t even sure the whole thing was textile, although his fingers did him the favor of bypassing his higher brain functions and verifying by touch that yes, it was indeed fabric, and elastic, and arranged in a very becoming waterfall drape down Irdak’s front that created a false neckline when in fact the rest of him all the way up his neck was encased in more shimmering screaming pink that shifted mesmerizingly with every breath, every move of his long arms, and every agonizingly slow pose.

“It’s not quite finished yet,” Irdak said nonchalantly. “Pehe had one of her apprentices bring it up so I could test it with whatever shoes I can rustle up, and inform her of the final hem length.”

“This… aberration came from _downstairs_?” Obi-Wan goggled. Like all Temple-bound Jedi he was familiar with Knight Vaurt’s textile workshop as the source of a wide variety of Jedi attire and the unofficial fifth service corps of the Jedi Order, picking up many a youngling that wasn’t cut out for the warrior-diplomat life and training them to be artisans of practical, comfortable, individual, and occasionally even elegant wearables. This, though… was far removed from what he had ever seen there. And that was counting the mannequins sporting the apprentices’ more adventurous creations.

“How on earth did you convince Pehe to subject one of her precious Padawans’ eyes to _that_?” _Ultra-violent would be a good way of describing that color. Your gaze just sort of falls in._

Irdak pouted. “You wound me, Obi-Wan. She was more than happy to do me a favor. I do at this point have a multi-year career in exceptional droid maintenance under my currently nonexistent belt, not to mention my recent advances into Padawan maintenance, which she appreciates even more.” He smiled, shimmying his slim hips in the clinging fabric and sending a frisson of extreme pinkness into the general atmosphere. “Though I did have to provide some medical opinions on the general safety of this color when applied to a model of my overall acreage, yes.”

“You will be hard to miss if you ever wear that in public, that much is certain.” Obi-Wan deactivated his datapad, knowing full well he wasn’t going to get any more work done tonight. “I take it this is an extremely elaborate attempt to get me to divest you of this… thing?”

Irdak smiled. “That is one possibility, yes. Seeing as it is already well past your bedtime, future Senator Kenobi. After all, we don’t want you showing up splashed across the Galaxy’s society pages with bags under your eyes that even _my_ make-up skills can’t conceal.”

Obi-Wan nodded mutely, stunned into silence by the thought of more alarmingly-colored glittery stuff smeared across his lover’s beaming face. It had simply been too long, he figured; too many years of comfortably living alongside Irdak in various combinations of overalls or scrubs or comfortable leggings and, whenever inevitable, tank tops and shirts, that he had forgotten what Irdak had looked like when they’d first met in what was the man’s native habitat at the time: one of the more upscale brothels of the Temple District.

There had been translucent fabrics, and bold eyeliner, and a short skirt covering his otherwise exposed privates. Obi-Wan rubbed a hand across his eyes, feeling acutely older and more staid than his flamboyant lover.

A hand settled on his shoulder. “Give me a moment.”

With that, Irdak disappeared into the bedroom, and if the quiet rustles of fabric were anything to go by, the magenta abomination was being removed from what was, after all, a perfectly attractive body all by itself. Forcing himself to put down his datapad and stand up, stretching himself back to his full height, Obi-Wan figured he might as well follow its allure.

After all, there weren’t many better modes of existence than drifting off to sleep curled up with a naked Irdak plastered to your back.

To his unending surprise, Irdak wasn’t naked. Or in bed. 

He was, in fact, leaning overly casually against one wall of their bedroom, arms crossed in front of him, a come-hither look on his face, and a thoroughly indecent version of Jedi attire on his body. The tunics gapped open in front revealing his extensively tattooed chest, the sash and belt sat low on his shapely hips, and the leggings that had always been a little bit too small on him were rolled up to mid-calf and rather tight… in the front.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but watch as Irdak trailed a hand down his chest to cup his cock through his leggings and give it a leisurely stroke. “Mmmmmh,” he purred, eyes drifting shut, hips rocking gently into his own hand. “This more your speed, Master Kenobi?” A lazy grin spread across his features, and Obi-Wan had a hard time deciding whether to swat or kiss it off his lips.

He opted for kissing.

_Loud_ kissing, their breath hot on each other’s faces, small noises of delight that had probably started somewhere in Irdak’s mouth zinging back and forth in a feedback loop of pleasure as lips and tongues playfully fought for possession of the other’s mouth. To his surprise, Obi-Wan was not ready to give in and get it over with after all, and the lazy kiss-pinked smile on Irdak’s lips when he finally pulled back was more than a little smug.

“Care to unwrap your gift, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help grinning. “Must be something wrong with you if you’re not self-unwrapping today.”

“That a challenge?” Irdak raised one eyebrow. “I can do it hands-free if you’d care to sit back and watch.”

With a soft snort, Obi-Wan sat down cross-legged on the bed, leaning back on his arms, eyes trained on his impossible lover. “No hands,” he said. “Let’s see you.”

“Imagine seductive music,” Irdak said, “because I’m not going to ruin the mood with an attempt at singing. Here we go…” With a flourish, he stretched out his long arms to both sides and ground his hips in tight circles, keeping the end of his sash pinned in place with the Force until it wriggled free from under his belt. With one quick Force-assisted flick, he popped open the belt buckle and spun out of the sash, shrugging his freed tunics off his shoulders and letting them slide seductively down his arms and to the floor.

He turned around and gave Obi-Wan a nice view of his ass in the slightly-too-small leggings, bending forward and straightening himself up again until he had the waistband worked low enough that the top of his crack was showing in the back. The front view, when he turned around again, was enough to make Obi-Wan swallow, the head of Irdak’s slender cock already peeking over the edge, the remaining length of it a pronounced ridge barely contained by soft worn fabric.

Slowly, slowly, just a little bit more with each gyration of those painted hips, the waistband slid down, exposing more of Irdak’s flesh, inexorably moving downwards until his cock sprang free and the leggings collapsed unceremoniously on the floor, discarded with a flick of a tattooed foot.

“Tadaa,” Irdak said drily, striking a pose. “No hands.”

“Some fairly frivolous use of the Force though,” Obi-Wan remarked with a smile.

“My favorite kind,” Irdak replied, bringing a tendril of it to bear on Obi-Wan’s entirely too clothed body. “Extra hands are always useful, especially given how lamentably fully dressed you still are.” With that, he set to work seeking the heat of Obi-Wan’s skin under all those layers, using his hands as well as the gifts of the Force. 

“Or are you fishing for a quickie, mh?” he purred into Obi-Wan’s ear. “Should I just pull down your pants a tiny bit and fuck you senseless right here? Let you cream yourself like a horny Padawan?”

A wordless groan from Obi-Wan as Irdak’s hand closed on his hard cock, still trapped inside his leggings and underwear. 

“Oooh, nice and hard already,” Irdak crooned. “I think I might like a piece of that. What do you say, Master Jedi? I’ll get it good and wet for you and you just shove down your pants and take me as I am?”

Between the promise of Irdak’s talented mouth and his welcoming ass, Obi-Wan could only moan agreement. 

And when he stopped to catch his breath, fully sheathed in his lover’s tight heat, and found his balls fondled by an invisible hand and a soft, thickening tendril of something hellbent on massaging his prostate expanding inside him, he knew that ‘oh Force yes more’ might be exactly the wrong words to moan but they were the only ones available to his lust-fogged mind, and letting go felt like the best thing in the world, held as he was by Irdak’s grip on all of him.

It took him several more minutes to actually regain his breath, minutes spent in increasingly wordless, mindless, and breathless ecstasy, his throbbing center enveloped by a matching pulse, Irdak’s tight flesh thrusting up to meet him, to eat him, until all he could do was scream until he ran out of breath and collapse into an unsorted pile of limbs on top of his impossible flame of a lover.

When he rolled off him with a soft groan, Obi-Wan was surprised to find Irdak’s eyes open, and the smile on his face wistful. He placed a grateful kiss on Irdak’s lips and settled into the curl of that long body, ready for sleep to claim him. 

It didn’t. And although the rhythm of Irdak’s hearts had slowed down to a gentle syncopated pulse and his breathing was deep and even, his presence in the Force was sharper and brighter than the soft glow of his dream-trapped self.

“Credit for your thoughts,” Obi-Wan offered quietly. “What’s keeping you awake?”

A deep sigh brushed the top of Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I’m thinking about Azdak. Again. And... it troubles me. That she is my… our daughter, and seems to want anything but that.” He raised his head to make eye contact. “How does that not trouble you, Obi-Wan?”

“I’ve asked myself that too,” Obi-Wan admitted quietly. “Maybe it’s the way I was raised. As a Jedi, I mean, like Azdak is. Family, to me, is not something I grew up expecting.” A soft snort. “And then it found me anyway.”

A toneless hum from Irdak, clearly an invitation to continue.

“I mean, I think of us as family - found family, if that makes sense. You and Qui-Gon and Anakin… not blood relatives. I wouldn’t know what to do with any other Kenobis to be honest.” He paused for a second, then continued when Irdak made no move to comment. “And Azdak will get there too. She’ll have a Master soon, and her aging is going to slow down to a normal rate eventually where she’s going to have people who will reliably stay around her age. Maybe there’s even a lover out there just waiting to find her. She’s old enough… from a certain point of view anyway.”

“It just hurts that I’m not part of all that,” Irdak said quietly. “And I would probably be more able to see things your way if I didn’t have the Skywalker family in my face on a regular basis. I mean, here’s a Jedi _and_ a set of genetic relatives, and somehow it works.”

“And wouldn’t the High Council love to see it fail,” Obi-Wan remarked bitterly. “As it stands, they are no match for the sheer tenacity of Shmi and Padme.” He sighed. “Yeah, those kids are fortunate. On the other hand, Azdak is going to be a Jedi. And from what I hear, that is the one thing she wants to be more than anything.”

“There is that, yes. She’s exceptional already, given how little time she’s had to develop her Force skills.”

“And more than a little busy, I suppose,” Obi-Wan said softly. “Honestly, I think a lot of that turmoil is going to settle down when she is paired with a Master.”

“Hm.” Irdak sounded undecided. “Well, for a start, the other kids are going to stop being a daily nuisance.”

“There is that. Must be exasperating being a five-year-old and a late teen all at the same time.” Obi-Wan took a moment to roll back over into Irdak’s arms. “But think about it that way - _you_ are entirely the product of some kind of found family, because we know for a fact your genetic ancestors weren’t around to help raise you. And from what we know of your Maker, I would say she’s definitely not the motherly kind. And yet you turned out fine.” He started stroking a hand down Irdak’s side as he continued. “You had all those people that you don’t remember, all being your family. You had someone encouraging you to get tattooed, or possibly throwing a loving fit over finding you all inked up. You had someone teaching you mathematics and make-up and awakening a genuine talent in you. You had someone telling you they like having you around. You had someone enthusiastically consenting to sex with you. And then you found me at an age Azdak hasn’t even reached yet. There’s hope, Irdak. She’ll be fine.”

Irdak nodded mutely, his horns gently touching Obi-Wan’s forehead. “I can only hope. Qui-Gon said something similar the other day actually.”

“And _he’s_ had to live with a teenage me.” Obi-Wan tightened his hug, and Irdak gratefully relaxed into it, his breath slow and thick with tears threatening to fall. “It might even be you after all,” Obi-Wan murmured. “I suspect she’ll come to appreciate your maverick tendencies much more than she would me. You probably won’t hear the word ‘Irdad’ from her lips ever again, but she might come around to appreciating you as someone not quite as steeped in the Order as me. Someone who’s almost her own age after all. Someone to get into trouble with.” He placed a kiss on the nearest reachable bit of Irdak, which happened to be his chin. “And I couldn’t think of a better person to get into trouble with than you.”

***

Her fingers were clammy, and the rain washed the paste down the posters in streaks, but she continued, one sunrise at a time, grimly turning the desert of white back into a beacon of democracy.

It was probably too late, at least here. Most of the worlds that relied on systems other than instantaneous voting had probably already cast and collected their ballots and were merely waiting on the final fanfare to release what was a foregone, if still secret, conclusion. 

Still, the fact that whoever it was had taken to pasting plain white paper over all the campaign posters in the City infuriated Sheg. And she had posters to spare, and nowhere better to be at night. Granted, her mother’s apartment was warmer and drier, but it came with her mother’s incessant needling. And the club was, while not warmer, usually drier and stocked with leftovers, but it came with Aluun’s attentions and the endless discussions that were the bread and butter of a political movement - but not having a bedroom door to shut between the political future of the Galaxy and one’s own immediate need for rest was not ideal either. 

So, she was burning off energy in the rain, pasting rhythmic rows of sunrises and smashed lightsabers over the desert of white, hoping that whatever came out of this election tomorrow night Coruscant time would be enough to give her hope and keep her going.

She hated that as far as smashing lightsabers was concerned, she had found herself on the same side as the former Supreme Chancellor and his exiled entourage, railing from their professionally appointed media hub against what they called the Jedi takeover of the Republic when in fact a takeover of the Republic was exactly what they would love to see themselves.

In Sheg’s confirmed opinion, there was no place for either in the Galactic Republic, not if the word democracy was to continue to mean anything, squeezed thin as it was between the ex-Chancellor’s conspiracists (“conspi-racists” was actually already earmarked for a future poster campaign seeing as they had increasingly shown their true colors in their blatant preference of humans over other races, now that the Separatist alliance was no longer of use to them) and the unchecked quasi-religious authority of the Jedi Order in its massive spire-spiked monolith.

All that was left for her was to post a thin line of sunrises, multicolored hands holding on to each other, and hope that democracy would carry tomorrow night.

***

“It’s over. We won!”

Irdak burst back into the bedroom in the small hours of the morning, fully dressed for work, waving his handheld comm unit that was showing an image of a bearded, dark-skinned human with a dignified if weary smile accompanied by the banner headline ‘Pro-Jedi Coalition Wins In Nail-Biter: Bail Organa To Be New Supreme Chancellor’.

Obi-Wan had groaned softly, both in relief and in dread at what the narrow victory would mean for the perceived legitimacy of the new government. The sense of relief on Coruscant was palpable, permeating the Force aura of the myriad beings inhabiting the City, but Obi-Wan knew better than to expect that feeling to be universal. Not with a Palpatine-powered propaganda machine already spinning up to cast accusations of illegitimacy and impropriety at the new ‘Jediocracy’.

And he would be caught in the middle of all that.

He’d sent Irdak off to his shift with a kiss and a hug, allowing himself a quick soak in the younger man’s feelings of relief and hope, and settled back down between the sheets to think.

A politician. The last thing he wanted to be, and now morally obliged to defend the position of the Order for fear of tipping the delicate balance of power towards those who would destroy it, and the Galactic Republic along with it. Was this really what he had signed up for when he fought so hard to be accepted as a Padawan Learner? When he had yelled at the Council, freshly Knighted, about the will of the Force and the fate of a young boy they had uprooted from his home? When said boy grew into Knighthood himself, a shining beacon of the Light, exposing the rot that reached deep into the core of the Republic’s establishment?

Was this really ‘serving the will of the Force?’

//You tell me, Obi-Wan. I’ve been grappling with that one all my life. And beyond.// A light blue glow settled on the side of Obi-Wan’s bed, taking the shape of Qui-Gon in sleep pants and a loose soft shirt, the way he’d worn it at night during the colder season. 

“I wish I could be as sure of it as I was years ago,” Obi-Wan whispered, his voice sleep-rough. “Especially now that I need to be more certain than ever. People are watching.”

//And yet… has it ever occurred to you, Obi-Wan, that a Jedi swears allegiance only to the Force?//

“What do you mean?”

//At no point are we expected to pledge our loyalty to the Jedi Order as an organization. Only to the Light Side of the Force. The Jedi Order, to all intents and purposes, is held together by tradition. By friction. Like good travel furniture.//

Obi-Wan sighed. “I don’t think I like where that image is going. It feels like things are coming apart enough as it is.”

//And that, too, could be the will of the Force. I don’t have the answers, Obi-Wan, not even from where I’m standing, but… it may be good to remind yourself that even as a representative of the Jedi Order, your allegiance is to the Force, not to a dozen beings on top of a spire.//

“They’d have my head if I declined now.”

//And I’m not suggesting you do, not if that feels wrong to you. But I have gained some insight into the points of view of those who have conscientiously left the Order in recent years, and...//

Obi-Wan frowned. “Dooku?! Again?” His eyes went wide in the predawn darkness. “Wait - if he can see you, then his connection to the Force has somehow come back?” Obi-Wan looked truly alarmed. “I know you won’t condone it, but if that is the case, we must inform the Council.”

//Calm down, Padawan.// Qui-Gon’s lopsided smile appeared entirely unwarranted given the seriousness of the situation. //He is, much to his chagrin, about as Force-sensitive as a rock these days. And… I write him letters.// Qui-Gon shrugged eloquently. //Sometimes on paper even, because electricity is sketchy where he is, at least during the storm season.//

“How did you find him? His location was supposed to be a secret even I wasn’t privy to. After his Senate testimony, that was the least we could do to ensure he wouldn’t get eaten alive by the Palpatine faction.”

//You forget that I spent ten years of my life with the man. You get to know each other’s preferences and quirks. And… librarians can be extremely helpful. When a new arrival starts checking out obscure philosophical works from the local public education system, that’s a dead giveaway.//

“So you are, what? Discussing philosophy with your former Master?”

//Among other things, yes. Refreshing to see the perspective of one who has seen both sides of the Force and now is encumbered by neither.//

“Encumbered?”

Qui-Gon shrugged. //It makes for a fairly sharp point of view. Not that I’d advocate you leaving your connection to the Light and going rogue… but the Jedi Order is a thing that one can leave, and live. That might be a bit of reassurance to you?//

Obi-Wan sighed. “I doubt that my life would be any less unstable if I severed my ties to the one place that gives me a purpose right now… or a family. But I must admit it had crossed my mind.”

//Then this is where you belong, for now. Just… rest assured your family and the Jedi Order need not be the same thing.//

Another sigh. “You speak in riddles, Master. Just like when you were alive.”

//And yet you can’t help listening, my bright one. Padawan to Knight to Master Kenobi, an honor to the Light.//

“And as of later today, that’s _Senator_ Kenobi to you.” The tiny crease of grim determination was back between those gray-green eyes. “Scoot, Master, I need to get dressed.”

***

_Fresh Senators._ Asajj watched the election coverage from her quarters aboard the _Defiant_ , he mouth quirked in a grin that made her tattoos twist into matching curves.

Fresh meat, bright-eyed novices to the Coruscant grind, at least a few of them easy prey, fuel to her own engine as well as Palpatine’s grinding campaign to take over a crumbling Republic. 

If it were up to her, she would have done away with it in a heartbeat. Not necessarily with the Republic, not while it was a useful front; but definitely with the grinding campaign, with the pinpricks of propaganda dished out by groveling lackeys in the media suite. What was wrong with a show of strength?

Blow up the Jedi Temple and let the enemy take care of itself. As it stood, she was more than capable of killing every single living being on this ship except for Palpatine himself… and if that didn’t leave her facing him alone with no way yet to overpower him, she would have done so long ago. 

If only she had someone strong by her side. Someone who not only had an interest in killing Palpatine but the ability to do so. Sadly, her predecessor had been robbed of his Force powers and sent into an ignominious exile; and privately she doubted he was more than yet another old man hiding out on a ship somewhere. 

No, she needed someone young and strong in the Force. And someone who wouldn’t immediately turn around and want to kill her next. A natural enemy of Palpatine’s. Or, failing that, someone who could be seduced into joining forces temporarily or permanently.

Well, she would be sent to Coruscant again soon, no doubt to pick off more Senators. Who was to begrudge her a little recon mission of the Jedi Temple? If they wouldn’t come to her (and they weren’t thick on the ground in this Force-forsaken quadrant of the galaxy, more was the pity), she had no qualms about coming to them.

For now, she was biding her time and grinding her teeth, pacing herself, conserving her Force powers, slowly and steadily putting the beginnings of a plan into action.

It would look like an outbreak of a mystery disease, the kind that you occasionally get on cruise liners, taking out the catering staff and maintenance workers first, slamming them into their bunks, wasting away under the puzzled gaze of the medical droids. Next would be the security forces, the media crew, the engineers, the pilots.... and eventually, eventually, the head of the whole rotting corpse himself.

***

“It’s finished!” Irdak burst through the door with an armful of eye-wateringly pink glittering fabric. “Just in time too. I told her flat shoes, given how I’m tall enough to be annoying already, but I’m considering dancing the night away barefoot actually - “

“Put it away.” Obi-Wan’s voice was so flat and toneless it stopped Irdak mid-sentence.

“What?” He frowned, coming closer. “You should have said something earlier if you’d rather see me in some statesmanlike blue tunic or whatever… this was a lot of work, you know?”

“It’s not me.” Obi-Wan reached out and grasped Irdak’s hand across the pool of screaming pink fabric, then nodded sideways at the comm screen. “It’s my superiors.”

Irdak’s frown deepened. “The Council?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “They are cautioning me that bringing you to the inaugural ball would, quote, ‘send the wrong message’.”

“I see. You’re required to play the unattached upstanding Jedi Master?” There was an edge of menace in Irdak’s voice, like a live blade.

Obi-Wan nodded dejectedly. “Only for the night. While the cameras are on us. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Irdak said quietly, the edge in his voice turned away from Obi-Wan. He squeezed the hand that was still holding his. “I know it’s not your choice. Just... don’t give my ticket to Master Windu?” He attempted a smile. “He most certainly doesn’t deserve to have fun with you.”

***

Moments later, a last-minute request for an additional ticket to the inauguration festivities popped up on Senator Padme Amidala’s desk. With a smile that broadened by the minute, she dutifully arranged for the ticket to go out to her ‘constituent’ post-haste, with a hand-signed and stamped plus-one option added should that be necessary.

A few considerations and trips to her meager in-office storage facilities later, she handed Dorra a neatly taped-up package for immediate delivery.

“No customs declaration? This isn’t going via diplomatic bag, right? Wouldn’t make it to Naboo in time, ma’am.”

“It’s not going to Naboo. They’re on Coruscant already. If you feel like taking a walk I’ll be happy to dismiss you early today. If not, just hand it to the janitor for the next courier pick-up.”

“And anyway,” she added, “it’s mostly just a bunch of used clothes. And for once that is not a fib for the customs form.”


End file.
